Kara
by Ammonite
Summary: Lee Adama muses on his past and current relationship with Kara Thrace.


All the previews this week pushed this little ficlet through my head.

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Kara**

I watched her, this woman that had so mesmerized my little brother that they were both willing to risk Fleet regs. I looked at her strong hands holding the beer bottle, not fine and polished like Gianne's, these held the stick of a viper. It was impossible to imagine her polishing them. She guzzled her beer with apologies to no one and laughed the same way. That laugh had rattled my spine earlier when she laid me in the dust while playing pyramid.

"Hey Lee, tell your brother what a cute drunk he is," she said, curling her lip in a genial smirk.

"You're a cute drunk, Zak."

"Wow, Kara, he must really like you." Zak rolled in on himself, halfway to the table, eyes wet with happiness and beer, and used Kara and the bottle to keep from falling the entire way.

She leaned on him and they folded together amid whispers and wandering, sliding hands. I'd be driving again.

Her hair had fallen forward so I could see the back of her neck. It was as lovely as her profile. Zak always could pick 'em. He'd started having bevies of females knocking on the door . . . well, the first time he'd been twelve. The squirt had asked me about kissing when he was thirteen.

Uh oh, I knew that green, pale circles-around-the eyes look . . . and was halfway out of my chair . . .

"Uh-uh," Zak was up, "you watch Kara, I'll be right back." He was off and weaving among the smoke-dimmed tables.

She turned away toward his receding back, as though attached by an invisible string, "Hey . . . where'd 'e go?"

I leaned closer to her ear so she could hear over the music. "To the" was as far as I got before her head smashed back into my nose . . . gods. Getting hit in the nose always brings tears to my eyes. I cupped a hand over the throbbing thing I was praying was unbroken, and felt a cool hand on the back of my neck.

"Oh gods Lee, I'm sorry; it's not broken is it? Let me see."

The drunk was gone. Huge concerned, hazel eyes were were boring into mine; one hand on my chin as the other pushed mine away and gently touched my poor pulsing nose . . . the pain faded with that touch. She caught my eyes and smiled, "I don't think it's broken."

That's when I saw her, really saw her. She saw me too. The way she stopped, didn't move like I didn't. Then, of course, it all starts again and you pretend nothing happened; that's what we did. She laughed and grabbed her beer. So did I. But I'd better not have another if just one made me feel so remote from reality.

I paid attention after that, to any little thing . . . that she did or said, or the way she looked. When too many added up I decided to spend my r&rs visiting a friend instead of going home.

After Zak was killed, I was too busy hating my father to love anyone. Then lost everyone but Dad and Kara, and it was too late.

I still haven't learned how to do it right - love I mean. Even my wife only knows the me she wants to know, the good soldier. That's what everyone needs now, so that's what I'm trying to be. I seem to be succeeding fairly well. It's not hard as long as I don't dwell on anything, overthink ethics and justice, ideas that always create difficulties and get me in trouble. There's not much room for them in this war.

Sometimes I think Dee should be older or the Admiral younger; they would have made the perfect couple.

That's not fair. She's been very good to me . . . and for me as far as that goes. I do love her . . . as much as I'm able.

It's the same with Dad. Although I think of him more often as the Admiral. I think he prefers it that way. Before New Caprica it seemed we were making a little progress as father and son. Well, I'm finished with it, like all the rest. The energy just isn't there any longer.

I end where I began, with Kara. Kara has been my Charon, rowing me about in a rapid-filled river of storms. Once or twice I've even made it to shore only to discover I'm on the wrong shore and have to get back in the boat and start over.

I'm on shore now, and I'm going to stay put. It was Corlios who said love and hate were two sides of the same coin.

I wanted her and Zak to be happy, then I just wanted her; damn me for wanting her.

I loved her; I've always wanted her to be happy, I really have, even if it was with that . . . him.

Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night. It's quiet, just the low thrum of Galactica's engines you feel more than hear. I'm not entirely awake, so there's no anger when I think of her. The things she's done . . . I wonder, why?


End file.
